


stupid wench.

by SeeThemFlying



Series: Unspoken [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jaime Lannister does not know how to emotionally process things, Jaime has a cathartic moment, Jaime looking after sick Brienne, Post-Lady Stoneheart, Realisations, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yet another unresolved mess, book canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27684916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying
Summary: I thought her so true and her eyes filled with such innocence, but she lied to me to bring me to my death. There was no feeling there, nothing honest. Just lies.Only ever lies.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Unspoken [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024483
Comments: 42
Kudos: 144





	stupid wench.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fallpoutboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallpoutboy/gifts).



> So, I am trying to write more book canon and be more active in fandom, so here is another little post-Stoneheart ficlet.
> 
> It is a gift for fallpoutboy because they recently stated in a comment they were a little scared of reading book canon fics. I am scared of writing them, so that seemed kinda felicitous!

Ghosts haunted _The Inn at the Crossroads,_ Jaime Lannister was sure.

It was not just the blue-eyed blacksmith who lingered at the door, his face an echo of a long dead king slain by a shadow, but also the orphan girls with their dirty feet. As they served their only visitors broth and bread, they did not speak, but looked at their guests with blank, distant eyes. Podrick Payne was not much better; he had not spoken since Stoneheart and seemed to be trying to divine his future at the bottom of his beer flagon. Jaime would have been tempted to leave him to his sorrow - he could almost see Pod sinking into himself and hiding inside, after all - but the alternative was to think of _her_ or listen to Hyle Hunt prattle on and on... and _on..._

"Pod," said Jaime loudly, trying to find something, _anything_ to interrupt Ser Hyle's discussion of Tarth's marble mines. "See that barmaid over there? The brunette with the brown eyes?"

"Yes, ser." Monotone.

"Well, don't you think she is pretty?" Jaime thought it was best to remind the boy that there were still nice things in the world.

Pod stole a glance at the girl then looked back at his flagon. "I guess. Do you think she is pretty, ser?" The boy bit his lip, clearly mulling over whether to say more. "Because if you _do_ like her... I'm sure... for one night..."

At Podrick's suggestion, Jaime let out a bitter laugh. The girl was pretty, no doubt, but _pretty_ did nothing for him anymore. Cersei had been a pretty girl once with her lithe frame and cherubic face, and it had caused Jaime to place her in the stories he so loved. If she was the princess in the tower, he could be the handsome knight destined to save her. Yet now it seemed _pretty_ was a mask and what he wanted was something real, something whole and unfiltered and honest. He wanted...

 _Stupid wench,_ he thought miserably, taking another bitter glug of his beer. _I thought her so true and her eyes filled with such innocence, but she lied to me to bring me to my death. There was no feeling there, nothing honest. Just lies._

_Only ever lies._

"She is pretty," conceded Jaime, "but I would not wish to pursue her. There are other things on my mind."

"Like what?" asked Ser Hyle suddenly, as if he had the right to know.

 _My wench,_ thought Jaime. _The guileless traitor, who even now hides upstairs without saying a word._

"I had a noose around my neck not so many hours ago and if it wasn't for that pack of wolves..."

"You would be swinging, I know," said Hyle. "I would be too. Although maybe Lady Brienne would have found a way..."

Jaime furrowed his brow. "Found a way to what? Save you and Pod?"

Hyle took a swig of ale before laughing himself, the corners of his brown eyes crinkling. Yet there was something strangely humourless about that chuckle, something absent. "Oh, I don't think the lady cares much for me. She was content to let me hang to save your sorry life, but the boy..."

As Hyle trailed off, Pod took up the mantle. "She was going to let herself be hanged," he said, his voice was quiet but heavy, especially with the tears blooming in his eyes. "She wanted to die for you, Ser Jaime, but Stoneheart would not let her. She wanted to turn the lady into a villain, when she was meant to be a hero. It was a form of punishment, I think."

It felt as if the whole world had suddenly become very small and very silent, as the crackling of the fire and the sound of the storm outside was muffled. Jaime felt as if he was walking across a field after a blizzard, the crunch of his boots on the snow the only sound.

"Brienne... wanted to die for me?"

Pod nodded then took a sip of his beer. "Yes, she was quite convinced, but it the end she couldn't see me die. She couldn't..." Before Podrick could bring himself to say another word, his tears were overwhelming him, and he was sobbing into his cups. "She tried to be good... tried to do the right thing... and now you hate her... and she's dying."

Hyle laughed uneasily. "The lady is not _dying,_ Pod. She has a fever, she needs rest."

"She's dying," sniffed Pod through his tears. "She's given up. She doesn't want to be here anymore, because she feels like she's failed, like she's..."

Jaime was up on his feet and across the room before Podrick or Hyle could say another word, knocking his flagon to the floor as he went.

_Stupid wench, who does she think she's failed? Me? Gods, what a stupid, foolish woman!_

Yet she did not look stupid or foolish when Jaime entered her room upstairs; instead she just looked incredibly sick. The maid Jaime had paid to tend to her had clearly stripped Brienne of her clothes - which had been matted with blood - then laid her on the bed to cool her down. Her pale, freckled skin was on show to the entire world; she was too lost in pain to think of covering her little breasts or the tangle of hair between her legs. While the maid had perhaps sponge bathed her, she was long gone now, seemingly abandoning her charge once she had done the bare minimum. The negligence almost made Jaime shake with anger.

"Brienne!" he cried, running towards her. "Brienne! Can you hear me?"

She gave him no verbal response, but nevertheless her face twisted in something that looked like agony.

"Gods, Brienne! Why did you tell no one you were suffering so bad?"

Silence.

"Why didn't you tell me to fuck getting a maid and stay here myself! If I had known you were like this, I would have never gone drinking with Hyle and Pod, would have never..."

He retreated to the corner of room where he found the bucket of water the maid had left for Brienne to drink from. While that perhaps showed good intentions, Brienne was far too sick to walk from the bed to the bucket, so it was more a form of torture than help.

"I'll get you some water, I'll..."

Not being in possession of a cup, Jaime retrieved a clean kerchief from within his jerkin and soaked it with water, before bringing it to Brienne's lips. Perhaps she could suckle like Jaime had seen baby goats do when they were reared by humans after their mothers rejected them.

"I won't leave you, wench. Won't reject you. Not me. Never me."

He wetted her lips with the water, noting how cracked they looked, and hoped she would drink.

"Wench, stop being stubborn and _drink_ , you bloody-minded woman. You need to drink if you want to get better, if you want to feel better."

At Jaime's irritable tone, Brienne grimaced once more, but this time a word escaped from her chapped lips: _Jaime._

"Yes, I'm here wench, I'm here," he said, sugar-sweet again, moving the kerchief from her lips to her cheek so he could dab at her angry looking wound. She whimpered and his heart hurt, threatening to rip itself out of his chest. "I won't leave you. I'm sorry I have been so angry, but I am done with lies and you _lied_ to me. I did not think you capable of lying, Brienne, not my sweet wench."

" _Jaime_."

There was something conscious about that exclamation, as if her fevered mind was calling out for him to _stop_ speaking. It was wrapped in a shiver, bone deep and frozen, and it made Jaime drop the kerchief. He changed the subject.

"Are you cold, wench?"

There was no answer this time and she kept her eyes closed, meaning Jaime had to go searching. Pressing the back of his remaining hand to her forehead, Jaime measured how cold she was - _freezing_ \- and was taking off his own clothes before he had really had a chance to think it through.

Her eyes fluttered open, revealing two sea sapphires.

"Jaime," she said again. For a moment, Jaime thought her cheeks went even more crimson than they had been.

"Body heat," he said by way of an explanation to a question she had not asked. "That is the best way to recover from the cold; skin to skin contact."

It took some time to rid himself of his jerkin, his breeches, his undershirt, his smallclothes, his boots, and his golden hands, but the moment he had, Jaime clambered into bed beside her as naked as his nameday. If Brienne was shocked, she did not show it, and meekly let him pull the covers over her and then roll her to face him.

"Come closer, wench," he whispered. "I can't warm you if you are so far away."

It surprised him how easily their bodies fit together; her freckled chest with its barely perceptible breasts against his pecs, their legs entangled, his arms drawn around her. Even more surprisingly, it was as if Jaime had drunk much too wine, as he felt deliriously, overwhelmingly happy resting his chin on the crook between her neck and shoulder. Before he could stop himself, he nuzzled her with his nose.

" _Jaime."_ If she had the energy, he knew she would have cried.

"Hush, wench. Hush. Whatever you think you have done does not matter now. I forgive you it all, even the things I think were just and fair and good. You don't need to die of grief, because I've got you... I've _got_ you. I wouldn't have wanted you to die for me - _never_ \- so do not think badly of yourself because you live. The world is so much better with you in it, because it means there is starlight in the darkness night, it means the stories are real and true knights do exist. So take my heat from me, take comfort from me, take my _forgiveness_ from me... and live."

His tears felt warm against his cheeks.

Jaime woke up a few hours later with the early morning light weeping through the windows. Feeling something immense and warm beside him, Jaime opened his eyes to see that he was entwined with Brienne. His wench. She was still slumbering, her hair fanned out beneath her and her eyelashes catching the limited light in the room. She was no longer shaking with the cold or burning up, and she looked settled and relaxed in a way she had not since... well, _ever._

 _Wench,_ he thought happily. _You are back! You are..._

It was then that Jaime noticed; he was hard as a rock. In his sleep, his eager and persistent cock had somehow nudged its way between her legs, until it was resting right against the seam of her cunt, her soft curls brushing against his skin.

_Oh._

Jaime took in a deep breath, revelling in the smell of her, the dazed, drunk feeling that had first overcome him when he held his wench in his arms, and the heady longing that was now threatening to burst out of his chest.

 _Stupid, stubborn, magnificent wench,_ he thought as he rained down little kisses on her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, and her chin.

 _Of course._

_Of course._

He held on tight and vowed not to let go, her shield against the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As ever, I would love to hear what you think in a comment!


End file.
